


I'm pulling on your heart to push my luck

by sshomoerotica



Series: Warcraft Drabbles [3]
Category: Warcraft (2016), World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7283881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshomoerotica/pseuds/sshomoerotica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's about this time that Khadgar realizes, holed up in Karazhan alone, how his hero worship of Lothar is perhaps more than something so simple.</p><p>He feels his face heat just to think about it. Lothar, Lion of Stormwind, King Regent; the idea that someone like that could ever look at someone like Khadgar and not see a child; a boy-mage; a young man blindly following the same path as Medivh, and perhaps just as doomed - it's laughable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You can coax the cold right out of me

**Author's Note:**

> I've only seen this movie once in theaters. I'm kinda iffy on accurately remembering a lot of stuff. Was Khadgar even _at_ the coronation?? Well, who cares; he's there now.
> 
>  
> 
> Fic and chapter title from _Bite_ by Troye Sivan.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The funeral for Llane is notably understated, much like the king himself - what little Khadgar had known him. To be sure, Llane knew how to command a room with his presence. But he was no more than a man in a crown - he was soft-spoken, kind; human. Khadgar had never met a king before, but he'd always imagined them as larger than life.

The funeral party consists of a small procession of guards and the royal family, even as the entire city seems to come to a standstill to mourn.

Khadgar feels the loss keenly - it isn't ever easy to lose a king, and furthermore on a personal level, Khadgar had rather liked him. Llane had been level headed, even when he was loyal to a fault. How was he to know - how were any of them to know - that Medivh was so corrupt? He was the guardian of Azeroth - sworn to keep the realm safe, to protect it from harm. Was not his word to be trusted above all others?

Medivh's corruption and subsequent betrayal serves to highlight the dangers of the Fel. No one is too strong for its sway; and perhaps worst of all, Medivh did not look at all changed until the end. Where did the line begin to delineate between eccentric, isolated Guardian and suffering, tainted man? How did they miss it? How did Khadgar, meant to be trained in noticing magics, manage to miss such a foul change? If only they had noticed sooner; if only Khadgar had been there; if only -  _if only_.

Now, they are without a king. A wife has lost her husband; children have lost their father.

At the head of the procession Taria is a veritable rock, her children at her side. While she looks drawn and wan with grief, her expression is one of stoic bravery. Khadgar is certain he has never seen her calm veneer crack. She is a queen through and through - a font of strength for her people even at the funeral of her husband. He can only hope her goodness is not tarnished by this loss. So much as Azeroth needs strong fighters, it also cannot stand to forget kindness and good will.

Beside them stands Lothar, shoulders squared and his eyes rimmed with red. He looks as if he hasn't been sleeping. Khadgar is sure it is only the impending coronation that is keeping the man sober. There's a fierce light in his eyes, as if he's barely holding back animalistic screams. To have first lost his son and now his king is a loss unimaginable.

Khadgar hadn't been there when Lothar returned, but he had heard the stories. Llane draped across his lap, limp. The fact that his blood had stained Lothar's hands - that it dripped between the crevices of his armor. He had heard that Garona did not return.

As the funeral ends and the procession leaves, Khadgar almost misses Lothar falling back from the group and walking from the main cemetery path. There are two graves close together, one clearly worn and the other almost new, and the way Lothar stands with his hands on both of the headstones makes it clear who he's visiting.

It is too private a moment to stay and watch. Khadgar is silent as he walks away, and although he is later asked about Lothar, he always answers that he doesn't know where the other man has gotten to - he posits that he probably went off to have one final moment of contemplation and peace alone before the end of the life he once knew.

He has no doubt that Lothar will serve his people well, if he can keep his grief from twisting up inside him. Khadgar hopes that Lothar will never lose his devil-may-care attitude, nor his fierce but humble morality. Losing a son and a king - a brother-in-law - in such quick succession is bound to leave anyone reeling. One can only hope that Lothar will find purpose in guiding Varian and ensuring that Stormwind and her allies know true peace in the years to come.

 

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

Khadgar stays long enough to see the coronation. Lothar is a sight, resplendent in his armor and his words heavy with promise. The speech given is a good one. To hear the people cheer makes something almost proud bubble up within Khadgar's stomach, akin to the feeling of mastering a splendor the first time.

He even lingers through the festivities, watching with none too subtle interest as stout proud dwarves and inscrutable elves mingle, brought together by this singular tragedy. It's a rare chance to observe, although he doesn't dare approach them.

He sticks around just long enough to feel the city become happy again. Long enough to see the darkness lift into golden light. The streets become merry with cheer and drink, songs sung in taverns spilling out into the streets as the sun sets.

He gives condolences to Taria, and promises to be there whenever she or her people need him in the coming days. There hasn't yet been any sort of ceremony, but it's a bit of a given. Besides, Khadgar figures he would still serve the people of Stormwind even if he weren't the Guardian of Azeroth.

Finally, Khadgar sets off on his own when everyone else is occupied. 

He doesn't try and find Lothar - chances are he's off in a tavern, drinking and hopefully having a good time of it. That sort of fun has never been for Khadgar. Part of him knows that he should find Lothar and give the man his condolences. Part of him is sure that whatever Khadgar were to say would not be welcome - Lothar doesn't seem the sort to appreciate such gestures, especially from a boy-mage.

Khadgar hasn't ever been good with people. What little experience he had was cut short by induction into the Kirin Tor, a group of people very much focused on knowledge and magic, not so much on talking about feelings. 

It's part of why Khadgar initially ran away. As the Kirin Tor sent him out to learn, Khadgar realized the world was much more colorful, much more vibrant and diverse than life in Dalaran had made it seem. Khadgar remembered his family, the love they shared. He realized that there could be more to his life than just the study of magic, if he could be brave enough to take it.

Instead, Khadgar finds a spot in the keep, no one around to watch as he focuses and calls the arcane energies to him.

Teleportation spells have gotten noticeably easier since -- well, lately. He finds it simple to focus on Karazhan and pull the magic tight around him like a cloak. There's a tugging sensation in his stomach before he blinks and finds himself in the tower.

The library is empty. The fading light outside highlights dust motes as Khadgar passes through, cloak pulled tight around himself to combat the growing chill. It's much easier going down this tower's steps than up them, and although it takes some searching, he eventually finds himself a perfectly serviceable room.

With a wave of his hand, he lights a veritable squadron of abandoned, half-melted candles. The flames burn hot blue and waver for a moment before they settle, throwing the room into warm, dim light.

He doesn't have much in the way of clothing. In the end he decides to sleep in his robes.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nightmares have been a constant thing for Khadgar, ever since the battle in the ravine. He's no stranger to dreams - it's something every mage learns to respect; the nature of dreams. Sometimes, they're messages, portents or warnings.

Other times, they're merely nightmares.

The one that continues with the most ferocity for Khadgar now is one based around the final battle with Medivh. It has plenty of outcomes - Khadgar dies, Medivh is able to complete his spell, Azeroth is plunged into darkness. But it's the endings that concern Lothar that leave Khadgar feeling sick long after he awakens.

Sometimes, his dream-self turns, expecting to find Lothar at his side, only to look just in time to catch the golem severing his head from his shoulders. Needless to say, Medivh usually wins those fights.

The worst is when Khadgar finds himself standing in the font, feeling the heat and burn of Fel magic in his veins. It's him versus Lothar, who looks the same but different - older, maybe. His words are muffled but their intent is clear - hatred, betrayal.

"I should have known better than to trust you," he shouts. Khadgar fights the inevitability of what he knows is coming; he raises a hand and Lothar grabs at his own throat, entire body lifting from the floor as he chokes. Khadgar feels trapped within his own body, like he's watching from the windows, helpless. 

Even then, the fire never leaves Lothar's eyes. He dies at Khadgar's hand, hating him with every fiber of his being. Khadgar knows this with the assurance one can only have from a dream.

He always wakes up in a cold sweat, heart racing and stomach sour. 

_Emotions make us weaker_ , a teacher once told him when he was young, just learning how to control his powers and prone to outbursts of frustration.  _We cannot ever let our magic be swayed by baser feelings. Magic must be neutral. Connections to others are only a doorway to corruption - you will find even the smartest of men will do greatly foolish things when they let their heart control them_.

Here in this tower, Khadgar finds himself ever more fearful of his dreams. He cannot afford cracks here; he cannot afford weakness now, as the very land continues to change in the wake of what Medivh tried to do.

Perhaps it is better for Khadgar to be alone.

The image of Lothar's dying face is enough to keep him from sleep. Instead he rolls from his cot and stumbles up the stairs, determined to read every last book he can until the sun rises.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Karazhan is not the same place it once was; it is empty and cold now. The haze that hangs around the canyon is more of an unearthly mist than anything natural. It blocks the sun and the moon such that the only way to tell the difference between night and day is the temperature. It's nothing like a bustling, warm hub of Stormwind.

But Khadgar cannot ignore the wealth of knowledge stored in the library. If they are to figure out what happened to Medivh, Khadgar is sure they will find answers in the myriad texts collected by the Guardians over the years. He scours the shelves for hours. He makes piles of useful books and carelessly tosses aside anything he won't need. There's plenty of books about the Fel, although cursory glances seem to point at only base knowledge of the magic.

There's no one to teach Khadgar how to become the Guardian of Azeroth. Perhaps, in another world, Medivh could have been his mentor. But now, it's just Khadgar and the bookshelves left behind in crumbling Karazhan, and a future of occasional trips to Dalaran to confer with the Kirin Tor. Overall, it is a lonely existence.

The tower still feels cold in the wake of Medivh's betrayal. Even so far below it, Khadgar can still feel the well above; the fel taint, sharp and acidic with the tang of sulphur.

Whatever life still lingers here is dark and twisted. Khadgar often catches shades and wraiths drifting by out of the corner of his eye, and the presence of the spiders since the release of the Fel doesn't bode well. Khadgar can't say he's ever minded spiders before, but he's fairly sure anyone would draw the line once they start showing up as large as house cats.

The wind of the canyon around the tower whips through the windows, lingers and makes haunting, mournful sounds. Still, Khadgar knows he has to take advantage of this bastion of knowledge.

He can already feel Medivh's knowledge, the knowledge of every Guardian before them, flowing into him.

It comes to him at seemingly random moments - one minute he's fighting to find a certain text, and the next minute he suddenly remembers that he knows pyromancy. It's so odd to remember something that you technically haven't learned. They aren't his memories, but those of the previous Guardians. Soon, Khadgar will be as powerful as Medivh, if he continues to refine his skill.

But that also means that soon, whatever force corrupted Medivh may very well be attracted to Khadgar as well. Just as the spiders and wraiths have taken notice of the very tower, so too will creatures and demons soon take notice of Khadgar. Whatever happened to corrupt Medivh, he is sure it could happen again, and he resolves himself not to stay in this place any longer than necessary.

The days are long and decidedly lonely. At first, Khadgar believes that he can handle such feelings. He's been alone most of his life, anyway. He doesn't need someone else around, especially should anything go wrong, but as the days wear on Khadgar realizes the importance of Medivh's companion. The tower is eerily quiet, a silence broken only by Khadgar himself and the occasional squawk of carrion birds outside. Darkness falls and Khadgar finds himself feeling lonely and uncomfortable. He thinks about how Moroes died at Medivh's hands, ever loyal. He thinks about the very scant people that he knows well enough to consider them anything close to friends. 

He remembers he way Lothar had scrambled towards him in the font, hands reaching out, and asked to see Khadgar's eyes.

Ever since they first met Khadgar has looked at Lothar with no small amount of awe. Well, that is, after the initial irritation wore off. Nothing to warm a budding friendship like throwing around _spell-chucker_ as a fun new nickname.

However, it's hard to keep from liking someone when you've been through so much as Khadgar and Lothar have. Still, Khadgar can't seem to bring Lothar down from the pedestal he put him on -- even as he watched the light fade from his eyes after Callan's death, or the way his mouth twisted to think of Garona having murdered Llane. He can't help wishing he'd spoken to Lothar one last time before leaving the city - he wishes he'd stopped, waited for him in the cemetery. He wishes he could be sure of his place in Lothar's life - he wishes he knew what the other man thinks of him; does he still see Khadgar as nothing more than an annoyance? A child to be watched, a mage to be feared?

It's about this time that Khadgar realizes, holed up in Karazhan alone, how his hero worship of Lothar is perhaps more than something so simple. He feels his face heat just to think about it - Lothar, _Lion of Stormwind_ , King Regent; the idea that someone like that could ever look at someone like Khadgar and not see a child; a boy-mage; a man blindly following the same path as Medivh, and perhaps just as doomed - it's laughable. 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Khadgar isn't entirely sure how long he's been in Karazhan when he gets his first visitor. He's got a handful of books and has sprawled himself across the floor of the library, taking notes with a mad energy and managing to get more ink on his own hands than the paper.

When he first hears the whoosh of wings on the air, he dismisses it as the many buzzards and carrion birds that have slowly been making Karazhan and the surrounding canyon their home. Then he hears the telltale heavy thud of something landing outside - definitely not a buzzard, then.

Khadgar scrambles to his feet and tries to wipe the ink from his palms as he rushes to throw open the doors.

It's bright outside, even through the haze that has lingered ever since Medivh's destruction. Still, the sun manages to light a halo around a tall, golden gryphon and the man who rode in on it.

"Lothar!" Khadgar exclaims. He takes half a step forward before he jerks to a stop. "I'm - is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine, Khadgar. Only you've been gone for weeks and nobody's heard from you, and we were all beginning to get a bit worried."

Lothar looks much the same as when Khadgar last saw him. Perhaps his hair is a bit shorter; perhaps his beard is better trimmed. His armor gleams in the hazy sunlight, and there's a healthy flush to his face, most likely from the winds flying in, and his eyes are wide and bright. He looks ... _happy_.

"Uhm." Khadgar shields his eyes against the sun. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry anyone. It's easy to lose time out here, especially with all the books --" Lothar is smiling at him as he talks, arms crossed. "Wait. 'We'?"

"Yes, _'we'_. Rather the entire kingdom, if you want to be vague. If you want specifics, then blame my sister." There's something tight around Lothar's mouth and eyes, something Khadgar can't figure out. He looks away and up to the top of the tower. "Either way, no one thinks it's a good idea to leave our Guardian alone for too long of a time."

Khadgar flinches and follows Lothar's gaze, windows blown out and scorched around the edges.

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine!" Khadgar tries to smile, but he's sure it looks forced. "So if there isn't anything else I can do--"

"You're coming back with me." Lothar interrupts. Khadgar's teeth come together audibly as he jerks. "We're going to be having a celebration for the midsummer festival. Taria insists you join us."

"Is it midsummer already?" Khadgar asks, and then grimaces when he realizes how little credence this will add to the idea that he's fine alone. Lothar gives him a knowing look. "Uhm-"

"Don't you try and tell me you need to read, bookworm. Take a break from this musty old tower. Are you going to start off your days as Guardian by ignoring an invitation from your queen?" Lothar smirks. It does terrible things to Khadgar's stomach. "And besides, I'm sure you'd rather enjoy eating something that isn't conjured rations."

Before Khadgar can come back at that, his traitorous belly gives a mighty growl. He's been subsisting lately on thin flavorless biscuits - quite filling, because they're magic, but very boring and not at all like the food he remembers sampling in the city.

Lothar throws back his head and laughs. The sound rings out into the canyon, echoing and distorting. Khadgar looks down at his own feet, ears heating.

"I should think that settles it." Lothar quips. "Go and get packed. You're coming back to Stormwind."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 


	2. Cause who's got any time for growing up?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm angry at Blizz that we can no longer play the original Warcraft games. I only know lore from having played World of Warcraft, and I know my timelines have never been 100%. So I'm trying to be deliberately vague, since between my minimal knowledge of lore and the way the movie changed stuff, I'm just ... so unsure. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

 

While Khadgar certainly is better versed in flying on gryphons now than he was before, he can't quite say he prefers them to teleportation. He's lucky that teleporting doesn't make him nauseas or give him headaches as it does for some people, and while he can't claim to have Lothar's animal magnetism, he doesn't have an issue with the gryphons themselves, cranky though they can be. It's only... riding on a gryphon always makes his stomach swoop uncomfortably, and every time he glances down his head grows dizzy.

He tells himself it's only that reason that he grips so tightly to Lothar as they dip and sail up and over the haze of the canyon, on towards the rocky cliffs that signal the end of the pass and the start of the lush greenery of Elwynn Forest beyond. He tries to focus on the breathtaking sights to keep himself from over-analyzing every other thought racing through his head.

"Don't tell me you're still scared of flying!" Lothar shouts. He has his head turned and the warmth of his lips are nearly against Khadgar's ear; still the words are almost instantly whipped away by the racing wind. Khadgar can just hear the teasing disbelief in his tone - Lothar has never lost a chance to ridicule Khadgar for his own amusement.

Embarrassment floods through him, hot and uneasy. It doesn't make any sense, really - Khadgar knows that if he falls he could easily cast a spell to slow himself. He'd be in no danger of getting hurt. It's just another item on the long list of things that leave Khadgar feeling painfully childish in Lothar's presence. 

"Don't tell me you're still a thick-skulled, empty-headed gnoll!" Khadgar snaps back, nonsensical and feeling irritable. It only makes Lothar laugh.

Khadgar can feel as the laughter shakes Lothar from his core. He can feel muscles moving under his hand; he can feel deep gasping breaths through Lothar's back where it's pressed against Khadgar's chest.

Then, as he feels his stomach swoop again, he's sure it's for a reason entirely other than the way the gryphon banks in the wind. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stormwind is just as lovely as it was when Khadgar left. Every rooftop seems to glimmer in the sunlight as they make their descent. Khadgar can smell the smoke from the chimneys; he can hear the bustle of her people and the echoing sound of hammers striking anvils. 

The roost is warm and pungent, heavy with the smell of animals and hay. Other gryphons seem to rouse as they land; there's a calamitous outcry from the other pens - the muted _thwap_ of wings and the voices of the handlers as they calm them.

Lothar dismounts first, and turns to offer Khadgar his hand to help him down. Lothar's palm is hot and calloused, and he feels immovable as Khadgar braces against him. He still slips inelegantly down onto the straw-covered floor. 

The gryphon reaches out and snaps its beak at Lothar as they step away. Khadgar jerks backwards with an embarrassing sound. Lothar doesn't so much as flinch - instead he reaches out with a smile and runs his fingernails along the great beast's forehead. It's eyes lull closed and it makes a soft chirping sound, as close to a purr as a bird's beak allows. Khadgar catches Lothar smiling; he steps closer to the gryphon and leans in, whispering soothingly at it. Khadgar looks away, heart tripping traitorously. 

In the doorway, without even thinking to, Khadgar finds himself yanking at his sleeve to ensure the mark of the Kirin Tor is covered. He's about to put up his hood when Lothar stops him, throwing out a hand and pressing it against Khadgar's shoulder.

"You don't have to hide anymore," he says, voice low and conspiratorial. The words stir something in him. Lothar's eyes are deep and seem to scour the inside of Khadgar's head. Slowly, dumbly, Khadgar nods and lets his hood drop. Lothar steps away and grins. "Besides, you're walking the streets with the King Regent. I don't think you're going to get away unnoticed, _Guardian_."

Khadgar barely has time to stifle a groan before Lothar steps out of the roost.

The people seem to be taking the midsummer festivities to heart. One can only imagine how welcome such a simple holiday would be in the wake of so much tragedy.

The streets are lit by torches and colorful banners of rich blue, gold and orange line the store and house fronts. Beneath his feet the cobblestones are radiating with the day's dry heat. Beyond the cathedral the sun is high, perched as if balanced on the very tip of the spire.

Lothar waves openly to men and women as they walk. A few soldiers stop and salute, but Khadgar is happy to note that none of the citizens show him over-the-top respect, besides a few curtsies from a some young girls and some boys who nearly give each other nosebleeds in their quest to be the first to salute him.

"I'm not a true king," Lothar explains, as they say goodbye to a family and turn down the canal road that leads towards the castle. There's no bitterness in his voice, only a pragmatic calm. "I insisted that they shouldn't treat me any differently than they would have before."

"They seem to like you a great deal." Khadgar murmurs.  _And who wouldn't_ , he thinks,  _after everything you've given in service to these people_ _?_

Lothar isn't looking at anything in particular, but he is scanning his city with a look of contentment and pride, as if there's nowhere else in the world he would rather be. The sun is bright behind him, his features limned in the light. Lothar is lucky to have a place like this. To find meaning in a city, in its people. At least, after everything, he still has this.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Just as they enter the castle gates, there's a great shout of joy.

"Uncle Anduin!"

Khadgar barely has the chance to hear it before Lothar is nearly tackled to the ground by a blur - a blur that turns out to be Prince Varian Wrynn.

Khadgar stands off to the side as Varian and his uncle talk - Varian seems taller even than the last time Khadgar saw him. Something in his chest twists to see Lothar and Varian together - he looks much like his mother, but with his father's hair.

It's clear that Varian adores his uncle, and Khadgar is glad to see that the boy is not still wallowing in grief. 

A thought passes quickly through his mind, wondering if perhaps Lothar sees parts of Callan in Varian - if perhaps having a nephew to raise and look after doesn't help to ease the aching wound that is a child dying before their parent.

"-- and I brought a guest for tonight's dinner."

Khadgar breaks himself from his thoughts just in time to hear the end of Lothar's statement. He smiles at Varian, whose face hardens as he turns away from his uncle. While the boy certainly isn't ugly, Khadgar nearly breaks out in laughter at the heavy, serious expression he makes, drawing his brows down and twisting his mouth.

"I don't think we ever properly met," Khadgar starts, feeling altogether unsure of what to do. "Or if you remember me. I'm Khadgar." All at once he remembers who it is he's speaking to; Khadgar rushes into an awkward bow. "Your Highness."

When he glances up, Varian's very serious look of distrust melts away, replaced by one of unbridled excitement.

"The Guardian of Azeroth?!" He nearly shouts. Gone is the appearance of refined breeding - now Khadgar is just speaking to a young boy, shaking with the idea of meeting a mage. There was a time, Khadgar remembers, when he was the same. Lothar throws Khadgar a grin over Varian's shoulder, and then promptly opens his mouth and invites Khadgar to work some magical wonder for his nephew's pleasure.

"Show the boy what kind of tricks you have up your sleeves." Lothar prompts. Khadgar gapes for a moment; he hasn't learned a trick for fun's sake since he was just a boy. Now, he mostly knows teleportation spells, barriers, and survival conjuring spells.

"What, am I a simple entertainer now?" Khadgar exclaims, huffing and crossing his arms. The smug grin on Lothar's face makes something devious thrill up Khadgar's spine. He plays up his disbelief and shakes his head. "Is that any way to speak to the Guardian of Azeroth?"

Lothar's eyes are sparkling. Khadgar's palms are beginning to sweat.

"I could have your Prince command it," Lothar threatens. 

"Very well," Khadgar says, inflecting his voice with the arched tones he so often heard used against him in Dalaran. He looks over at Varian and throws him a wink; the boy's eyes are wide with anticipation. Khadgar turns his body until he's facing Lothar, who looks entirely unaware of what is coming his way. "You asked for it."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It is of course the source of unending amusement during dinner - "The great Lion of Stormwind is nothing more than a lamb!"

Lothar's mutterings of  _"I was not a lamb"_ eventually stop altogether; Khadgar is sure he only kept saying it because it made Varian laugh. Once he drinks enough wine Lothar even stops sulking stormily any time it's mentioned.

"I did warn him," Khadgar says, because he knows it will make Taria smile.

The queen is as lovely as always, but it would be a lie to say the past few weeks have left her unchanged. She looks tired, and somehow older - her eyes seem to speak beyond her years. She's dressed in clean, understated black. It only serves to highlight that she's paler than when Khadgar last saw her; he can't imagine, between her duties and her grief, that she has found enough time to spend outdoors. Still, her laugh is infectious and her smile brightens the room. Whatever has changed in her, the goodness in her heart has not been hardened.

"I wish you could have been here to do that to him when we were children," Taria chuckles. "He was insufferable. I should think being turned into a sheep would have done wonders."

Khadar snorts into his wine, just barely managing to keep from spilling it on himself or the table.

"We've already set aside a room for you," Taria tells him. "I'll show you to the study after dinner, if you'd like. I'm sure you could put those old tomes to better use than anyone else here."

The dinner is a quiet family affair; it appears that Lothar brought Khadgar to the city earlier than the actual midsummer party. Khadgar can't say he's very upset to realize he'll be staying in the city longer than planned, but it still twists him up inside to think that Lothar ... didn't  _lie,_ exactly, but obfuscated. As if Khadgar wouldn't have come if Lothar had been honest - if he'd invited Khadgar to a week of festivities, rather than just one night. Now, there's no getting out of it. Khadgar may not be the best when versed in social niceties, but even he knows better than to turn down an invitation when he's already here - and from his queen, no less.

The study, while of course considerably smaller than the library in Karazhan, is also considerably nicer. There's a roaring fire, plush bear-skin rugs and tufted chairs. Khadgar walks to the shelves and trails his hand along the spines of the books; most of them seem to be histories, more personal books than what he would find in Medivh's collection. It will be a nice change of pace from the sterile - if still fascinating - spell books he left behind.

"Should you make your way through these, then I'll have to show you the real library. Although, I'm afraid most of the texts there are dry accountant's ledgers." Khadgar is admiring the way the light catches the gold embossing on the spines of a set of tomes, but he can hear the smile in Taria's voice. "Besides, I'm sure that can wait until you've learned your way around."

"Now you've done it, sister." Lothar starts. Khadgar glances over, sees him leaning against the doorjamb behind Taria with a smirk. His words are vaguely softened by drink; the line of his grin is almost mean. "You sent me to drag him out of that tower and away from his books, but now I fear we'll never see him leave this room."

Khadgar's face flushes; he blames it on the fire. He steps away from the shelf and walks out of the room. He hears Taria hiss something at Lothar under her breath.

His room is not far from the study, something Taria insists was done on purpose.

"I can remember trying to learn my way around these hallways. It was incredibly fun when we were younger - so many good places to hide. I figured we would make it as simple as possible for you to travel between your quarters and the study. And of course, if you're ever lost, the guards can always point you in the right direction."

The room is sparse but still lovely, with a real, thick mattress, a desk, and an empty shelf. It's certainly bigger and homier than the one he has waiting for him back in Karazhan.

"Thank you very much, your majesty." Khadgar gives a little bow, even as he feels like an idiot for it. "You are too kind."

"Nonsense," she dismisses, waving a hand. She smiles at him, warm and welcoming. "It's the least we can do for our Guardian."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That night, Khadgar lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling, mind racing and thoughts unceasing.

There hasn't yet been a formal ceremony, and Khadgar is certain every council member of the Kirin Tor is appalled at the idea of having someone like him become the Guardian of Azeroth.

Khadgar was never a good student. Oh, he learned - he was always a natural at spells when he was younger, and never afraid to work hard and see results. But as he grew, he lost the faith that had once been nearly blind. He yearned to know a world outside of Dalaran, and the cold unfeeling nature of the Kirin Tor was no longer right for him.

The only problem being, one does not simply _leave_ the Kirin Tor.

It was at once harder and easier than he expected. Harder to actually leave - Khadgar's thoughts kept telling him to stop, to slow, because maybe things would get better, and this choice was not one made lightly. Another thought had him thinking, remembering that he had a full life ahead and it was wrong to waste it by being trapped within the walls.

In the end, he had convinced himself it was the right thing to do. He didn't want to be a great mage if it meant living out a sterile life, so far away from the world he was training to protect. 

Now, in the aftermath of everything, it's easy to say he did the right thing - easy to look at what he did to help stop the Orc invasion and believe that it was meant to be, that it has all worked out. 

Only, he feels more lost than ever - more alone, more unprepared. Everyone looks at him and sees Guardian, but Khadgar doesn't feel like the Guardian. He just feels like he was in the right place at the right time. When will the day come that he feels it - that whatever he's absorbing, whatever knowledge he's slowly becoming privy to will finally coalesce into an understanding?

When will he feel like the Guardian? When will it no longer feel like something he hasn't earned, to stand with Lothar and the queen and have a stake in the saving of Azeroth?

More than anything else, he feels alone. There weren't many he considered friends when he was a part of the Kirin Tor, but at least he knew others going through the same troubles. They were all training together, dealing with the same feelings of fear, uncertainty, but also excitement and a sort of bubbly nervousness. Here, Khadgar doesn't have anyone. He doesn't have someone to turn to who can say, "It's alright. I've been there. It gets better."

He rolls over in his bed and closes his eyes tightly, fighting the way his heart starts to race. He isn't the Guardian yet, no matter what anyone else is saying - no matter what Lothar thinks, or the queen. He may never be the Guardian, and maybe that's all this will be - could-have-beens and maybes, where he has an adventure, saves the word, and that's it. Maybe he has a future here in Stormwind, maybe not; Guardian or no, he's sure they'd let him stay on as a city mage. 

Now, though, it's late. It's been a long day in what feels like a lifetime of long days, and tonight he's sleeping in the keep of Stormwind castle, and tomorrow he'll sit in the study and read books and not be looking over his shoulder as he would have done in Karazhan. He will enjoy the upcoming Midsummer celebrations, and he will cherish whatever he has coming, and when it's over -- well, that's something to worry about when he gets there. 

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Duskwood wasn't quite yet Duskwood at this point - I saw something saying they called it "Grand Hamlet" before it got corrupted? But I honestly just didn't bother naming it at all. I also wasn't sure if Deadwind Pass has always been called Deadwind Pass. Surely before the corruption of Karazhan leveled the place it had a bit of a nicer name? I couldn't find anything though, so. 

**Author's Note:**

> this might become multi-chaptered?? i have other things that might tie in here idk. i just really wanted to write pining!Khadgar who is really just a kid with a huge crush.


End file.
